


Melancholia

by Theincrediblesulkmachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apparently rebelfire is also a thing, Gen, I am here for that, Katt - Freeform, Loneliness, M/M, Melancholy, Near Death Experiences, Post S4, Rebelfire, Rebelfire aka katt, you all know what this is about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 00:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12469140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theincrediblesulkmachine/pseuds/Theincrediblesulkmachine
Summary: It wasn’t ideal but nothing about the situation had been; ideal is a fallacy, a pretty lie reserved for imagination and dreams. When its the only six people he cares for in the universe pitted against his own survival? Therewasno option.





	Melancholia

**Author's Note:**

> This scene hasn't really left my head, and well, when fully formed sentences start strolling into your head, setting up scenes and emotions; you know you have to write it, or let it drive you mad.  
> I'm sure this has been done a thousand times, but a) i haven't done it before, b) i wanted to, c) there's not enough Katt content, d) i have no control, e) the lack of s5 news is killing me, f) i love matt, g) i love keith and h) I LOVE KEITH.
> 
> This became a lot longer than i intended it to be, but i'm at peace with what came out, i think. I'd love to hear what you all think. You can read this as platonic, or not; it's not particularly explicit, and either way this is hurt and comfort, and the dynamics of two beautiful rebel boys who own my heart.
> 
> Oh, and a happy birthday to my favourite boy, Keith <3 give him love, Dreamworks.  
> ***  
>  **EDIT (30/7/2018):** now with a wonderful fic (Sanguinity) somehow inspired _by_ this one, by the sweet Onoheiwa  <3 thankyou for blessing this fic and our Katt(ish) feeds. Do check it out and show them some love!

* * *

 

In the aftermath, Keith feels cold.

It’s an odd contrast, considering that in what he had thought were his final moments, he had felt like he was boiling from the inside out; a mixture of panic, rage and desperation that would sear him through.

Keith doesn’t feel any of that warmth now, not even the essential heat of emotion. His mind is clear, too clear, and he knows what he was about to do; what he was prepared to do.

It wasn’t ideal but nothing about the situation had been; Ideal is a fallacy, a pretty lie reserved for imagination and dreams.

It’s not that he is suicidal, or has a death wish; he’s only human, and in that moment, he had felt the regret of a hundred words unsaid, a thousand moments unlived. But if you truly think about it, it was the only option he had; one life in exchange for thousands- the rebels, the Blades, the Paladins, Voltron.

The only six people he cares for in the universe pitted against his own survival? There was _no_ option, even if the fate of millions didn’t hang in the balance.

Keith is under no delusions; he knows exactly how close he had come to death, he had felt the crackle of electricity from the particle barrier across his skin, raising the hairs on his arms, his neck.

Death had reached out to him, arms held out in welcome, and he’d almost taken up the silent offer, when a splicing laser that shattered the particle barrier.

Keith only just pulled out of that embrace by virtue of his reflexes.

As he hears the comms come back on, affirmations of safety flooding the line; he doesn’t feel the relief he expected, but an odd kind of despondency- he would never have heard these voices again, never known the bittersweet pangs that come with caring, with love.

Keith answers Shiro’s query mechanically, not paying much attention to what he says as his brain works itself into overdrive; categorizing thought from sensation from reality; becomes distantly conscious, that he recognizes the ship that had stepped in.

 _Lotor_.

As he floats there in dead space, suspended in thought and moment, he wonders idly what the exiled Prince stands to gain by stopping the cruiser from detonating half the known galaxy.

 _Amnesty_ , his minds whispers, but Keith can’t dredge up enough emotion to worry about the potential complications.

He hears the four staggering clicks that represent the Marmoran signal for regrouping, and pulls his cruiser out of the drift it has fallen to.

It’s quiet, as the Coalition picks themselves up from the weight of near disaster; as if only just opening their eyes to the true nature of war.

Realizing the stakes of war, the odds they had just overcome, can be a humbling thing. Keith who has continually fought for everything he ever wanted, ever held dear, thinks he has always known this truth.

The debriefing is short-lived; Kolivan is not one to mince words, or waste time on sentiment, but his battle-worn eyes linger a second too long on Keith. Kolivan is also one who is under no delusions of glory, or the nobility of cause; he knows the price of war, has paid it many times over- but in that instant, he seems to want to say something.

Keith wants to hear neither censure nor congratulation, so he takes his leave before the Blade can open his mouth.

He still feels cold, so he heads to the showers, strips, and finds himself standing under the steaming spray without consciously going through the motions.

The water should blister, should at the very least warm him, but it’s almost phantasmagorical. Its real, he can feel it trickling down his face, his nose, but the sensation is faraway, like he’s watching it happen to someone else, and the shadow of touch on his skin is merely sympathetic.

Keith tips his face up, allowing it to pelt down mercilessly, but that too is muted.

He knows its reactionary, his body shutting down in the fallout of too much emotion. It still doesn’t stop the internal displacement he feels, more _alien_ than his biological makeup had ever made him.

The Coalition was suffused in feeling, and Keith could find none.

Not relief, not fear, not anger.

Just empty.

He drops his face into his hands, allows the water to bleed through his hair, bombard his neck, and allows himself one moment, just one, to feel the void creeping through his limbs, and then he returns to motion.

He shuts off the valve, and redresses, not bothering with toweling himself dry. Any other time, he would have been irked at the way the cloth clings, but it’s too much effort to consider at the moment.

Keith leaves his armor on the floor, in a way he never normally permits loose ends, and sinks to the bed; the lone piece of furniture in his sparse accommodations.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he looks at his hands; he’s distantly bemused to discover that they’re shaking.

 _Its shock,_ Keith realizes he knows.

He sighs, the sound echoing like a gust of wind; his own breath a jagged whisper in his ear. Keith makes himself list backwards, lying down, curling up in an abstract approximation of comfort, of warmth.

He takes the hush as an opportunity to practice his latest habit; he lies to himself; _the silence is comforting, the chill is invigorating, this emptiness too will pass,_ he thinks, and there is bitter irony in the fact that even in this detached state, Keith doesn’t believe himself.

He can’t even stop shaking.

* * *

 

In the aftermath, there is radio silence from Keith.

Even as he takes the time to make sure Katie is okay, that the Princess, Shiro and the other paladins are unharmed, Matt finds himself worrying, because he’s the only one who had been there, the only one who knows.

The only one to see that unsettling blank expression that had taken over Keith’s face, before setting in resignation, and a dark sort of determination.

Matt had felt something cold grip his heart at that expression; it was the one Shiro had worn before attacking him in the Arena; it was the face of someone calibrating a situation without factoring themselves into the equation.

“Keith, _no!”_ The exclamation had torn itself from his throat at the very real situation unfolding in front of him.

Keith simply accelerated, switching off the link to their private channel.

The blank screen had shaken Matt, even as he thought it over, and over- he understood, of course he did- tens of thousands of lives were at stake including his own, including his sister’s; the stake was the _entire_ rebellion, and the _only_ weapon standing between the Empire and universal dominion- Voltron- was as good as lost, if that bomb had gone off.

Matt understood, but even with that, the expression he had seen on Keith’s face haunts him.

He finds himself asking Olia to take him to the last known location of the Marmoran base before he can justify it. She doesn’t ask any questions, but he sees the set of her mouth, and knows she gets it.

When they reach the flagship, Matt hails their private frequency directly, asking consent to enter the base, in what will most likely be viewed as impudence.

He’s surprised when Kolivan’s answer is a receding doorway; an invitation inside.

Matt doesn’t waste the opportunity, thanking Olia and walking through into one of the most reclusive bases known to the Coalition. Any other time he might have looked around, intrigued by the ins and outs of the technology, the allocation map, but he just follows the masked Blade to where Kolivan waits.

“I apologize for the intrusion,” he begins, not wanting to piss off the stoic leader, “But-”

“I know why you’re here.” Kolivan interjects his half-assed niceties. “Maddox will lead you to him.”

Matt blinks, and eyes Kolivan; he finds what he’s looking for, a tightness around the eyes, an exceptionally grim twist to the mouth. He chooses not to comment, simply saying. “Yes, thank you.”

The room isn’t far, and it isn’t long before Matt finds himself standing in front of a closed door.

He feels a niggling sense of self-doubt now, when it’s far too late to do anything about it; what if Keith doesn’t appreciate his interference?

Matt can’t leave things be, it’s part of who he is, and he really doesn’t think Keith deserves to be left alone. Not when he’s shown incredible strength of character by making an impossible choice that nearly ended his life; not when he had been ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of the people he loves- one of whom is Matt’s sister- for the universe; especially not when Matt had seen it happen in front of his eyes.

And, Matt? Matt knows a little thing about loneliness.

So, he nods to the Blade waiting by him, and he overrides Keith’s lock and privacy to let Matt in.

The room is Spartan; compulsively neat, with no sign of occupation or temperament save the discarded armour near a half-hidden doorway. It’s lit exclusively by an aegean glow, painting the dark with wisps of melancholia. It emphasizes the loneliness of the single lifeform lying immobile, on the solitary piece of furniture in the room.

“Keith?” he asks, almost in permission and there’s no response, no outward indication of having been heard. Matt dares to step closer, until he’s at the side of the bed. He can see glimpses of pale face, through a mess of hair, still wet, drying haphazardly amidst half-soaked bedding.

“ _Keith_.” Matt repeats softly, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder, and he’s alarmingly cold; freezing to the touch. Keith half-turns, not startling, not reacting in any way aside from the physical, to look over his shoulder.

Keith looks at Matt like he doesn’t understand why he’s here, but can’t be bothered to worry about it. It’s frighteningly listless, and very unlike Keith, who in even the short duration that Matt has known him, has proven to have an exceptionally expressive face.

“Hey.” Matt says, and it’s inadequate, but it’s all he can think of when face to face with a mostly unresponsive friend.

Keith keeps his gaze on Matt for two long seconds, before once again turning his back, Matt’s hand slips with the motion. It’s quiet for a few moments where Matt grapples for something to explain why he’s here without being pitying.

“Are you here to yell at me too?” Keith speaks, beating Matt to the punch, and it’s oddly intoned; low but heavy; drained; resigned

“What?” Matt says, surprised. “No.”

“Not going to tell me how reckless I was? How stupid? How selfish?” there’s a quiet hollow laugh at the end of the sentence, it rings and reverberates with the intensity of an opera hall screaming WRONG.

“Selfish?” Matt asks incredulously, “Stupid? What you nearly did… wasn’t either of those things…” Matt trails off, as he thinks of what this moment would have been like if the Galran Prince had not interceded, and feels his heart twist, a lump developing in his throat, and he suddenly needs to see Keith, to see for himself that he’s alive, if not entirely well.

“Keith,” Matt says, “Look at me. I just wanted to know you were okay…”

“Why.” It’s not a question, nor a statement. It’s just a word said, to hide the empty cavern where an unbreakable spirit normally resides.

Matt sits down on the space at the edge of the bed. “It’s alright to feel this way, you know; I can’t imagine how hard that decision was for you, but I can tell you that I was _terrified_.”

“Why?” and it’s so soft, so quiet, so unassuming, that Matt realizes something tragic; Keith is uncomprehending of how vital he is, how important to those who know him.

Maybe he’s never known anything different.

Maybe he’s never thought it alright to be scared…

Maybe no one ever told him otherwise.

“Why not? Someone I consider a friend- someone my little sister looks up to, thinks of like a brother… why would I not be terrified at the prospect of losing him?”

Keith exhales softly, breathing even, unaffected, but his eyes drift to the corner, looking at Matt through his periphery. 

Matt finds himself continuing, “You know, I faked my own death to get away from the Galran fleet that discovered us?” a barely-there nod. “There was no real danger involved, but when I looked down at that headstone, when I saw my own name staring back at me, amidst everyone else that we lost in that ambush …” He chokes a little on his words, clears his throat self-consciously. “It shook me, _Keith_. It made me realize, that could really be _me_ ; one mistake, one variable, _one_ wrong decision, and that would have been me.”

“Those _are_ the odds we face, and it’s genuine, and fearing it or denying it changes _nothing_.” Matt sighs, and leans back on his hands. His fingertips brush Keith’s back on their way down to the surface of the bed, and he startles slightly. “The thing is, the decision you made at the moment- it’s not about reckless, or selfish or _stupid_ \- it’s just that it’s a… it’s- it _should_ _be_ last-resort.” He fumbles a little for words, because technically nothing about that situation had been _less_ than completely desperate, but he wants to convey to Keith somehow that it wasn’t _okay_ without undermining the resolve it had taken to make it. 

“It’s not that I’m saying you were wrong,” Matt says, a little frustrated, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sort the emotion from thought. “What I’m saying that you didn’t know for sure that it would work, and losing you… over a… a _maybe_ , isn’t acceptable.”

“What other options did we _have_?” Keith says quietly, finally, and then even more inaudibly, “It was the only thing I could do to protect everyone.” and Matt is reminded of what Pidge told him the Blade’s motto falls down to, the mission over the individual.

“Who protects _you_ , Keith?” Matt says, entirely without meaning to, and he feels Keith tense behind him.

Keith rolls sideways to face him, and there is a crack in the terrible blankness that plasters his face. His eyes are wide, and his mouth is lax, and for the first time Matt sees the cost of that near brush with death, that _almost_.

Matt smiles at him, a little sadly before shaking his head. “Look, I don’t know,” Matt admits ruefully, “I don’t know… all I do know is that a few more seconds, and you would have been gone… all I know is that you, as an individual, are _important_ … to me… to Pidge, to Shiro, and the other Paladins…beyond your just being _useful_.”

Keith swallows and then in a small, vulnerable voice, he asks, “Do _they_ know?”

Matt shakes his head, “I haven’t told anyone.”

Keith sucks in a sharp, relieved breath, closing his eyes for an instant. “Why?”

“Do you know what it would have been like for them to find out you had died?” Matt asks instead. “To hear _silence_? To think the link is down, that your communications have been compromised? To find debris where your ship had been?” His voice trembles, as he outlines the possibility that hasn’t quite left his mind since that evening. “To hope that you had been evacuated, to search and search only to find out… to _know_ that you were _dead_ , for their sake, to know and never be able to even say _goodbye?_ ” Matt’s voice breaks, and a sob escapes his mouth completely unintended, and he leans forward immediately, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“They wouldn’t…” Keith starts before falling into silence. ‘I’m sorry.” Keith’s voice is sincere.

Matt breathes in deeply through his nose before looking back, “They _would,_ and it’s not _me_ you should apologize to. Not being able to say goodbye…” he shakes his head and falls silent, unable to continue the thought. “You need to tell them yourself.”

Keith swallows and it’s hesitant, but he nods, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry that you had to be there.” He says again.

“Front row seats to someone you care about, nearly killing himself, isn’t something I want a repeat performance of.” Matt says, but he smiles for Keith’s sake. He isn’t upset with him, not really.

It’s just circumstance that dealt them a horrid hand.

He really hates the fates.

“I hate being helpless.” Matt says softly, looking away now. “I know you get it, that’s why you did it, but you’re not just a tool. There are people waiting on you to come home.”

Keith pales, and then says matter-of-factly. “There really aren’t.”

“Oh.” Matt says neutrally, blinking, taking that in before saying, “I wasn’t talking about Earth, though.”

“Oh.” Keith repeats. “Matt?” he asks, after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“I- thank you for being here.”

“Yeah, of course.” Matt says, surprise apparent in his eyes.

“Matt.” Keith says, like an afterthought, like a mantra.  “I… don’t think I’m okay.” Keith finally admits on a bitter laugh, speaking into the silence of the shadowed room. “I knew what I was doing, I was ready…I knew the consequences…” he covers his eyes with his hands- they make a harsh smacking sound on impact, then he lowers them, cupping his nose, hiding his shaking mouth.

He breathes in shakily, and even in the dim lit room his modena eyes glisten.

“Keith,” Matt says, leaning across the bed with a hand outstretched, placing it on his shoulder; he’s still worryingly cold, but his hair is dry, sticking up every which way, and Matt fleetingly wonders what it would be like to touch, to muss up even more.

“I was prepared to die…” Keith says, slinging his arm across his eyes, and the sentence comes out on a sob, and his shoulders heave. “I _knew, so…_ so, _why_ …?”

And Matt? His heart breaks.

“Keith.” He says, and it comes out like a plea, like a prayer. “It’s _okay_ to be afraid.”

Keith takes in a ragged breath instead of a response, and it capsizes halfway, into another sob. “I don’t _want_ to care.” He says, but Matt can hear the unspoken truth: _I don’t want to be afraid._

Matt tugs softly on the elbow of Keith’s left arm, and Keith holds it in place, stubbornly. He sighs. “ _Will_ you let me help you?” Matt asks mildly, tugging at it again.

Keith lowers his arm slightly.

Matt tugs him forward, and maneuvres himself under Keith’s arm, putting his own around him in return.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks, going along with it even if he’s a little confused. His voice is hoarse, but controlled.

“It’s called a hug.” Matt says, cheekily, like this is a very different situation. “And, you’re freezing- jesus fuck.”

Keith’s mouth lifts in a surprised smile, “You’re just like Pidge.” He says, but doesn’t pull away.

Matt holds Keith for a few minutes, without saying anything, until he feels Keith’s breathing even out, his shaking subsiding alongside skin warming to humane levels.

In the silence, Keith drops his head onto Matt’s shoulder, and it’s nice, despite the heavy air in the room around them. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” Keith says, into his shoulder.

Matt tightens his arms around Keith a little, and takes in a measured breath, before replying. “I know you would.”

“Weren’t you trying to convince me not to pull shit like that?” Keith says, dryly but not entirely humourless. “You don’t think that’s impulsive?”

“Of course it is,” Matt sighs, pushing his nose into Keith’s hair, allowing the hand not around his back to thread through his hair. “But we don’t really have the novelty of safe, well-reasoned lives.”

“No.” Keith agrees, and there’s something appreciative in his tone.

“Just… think about yourself too.” Matt adds quietly, “You can’t forget that you’re important.”

Keith laughs softly, as if trying to deny it without saying anything. Matt yanks his hair sharply in retaliation.

“ _Hey_.” Keith says, sounding like he’s trying to be offended, but it just sounds relieved.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” Matt says.

“Me too.” Keith replies, and it’s genuine-sounding, not forced like the composure and solitary strength of before.

 “Keith?” Matt asks, letting his eyes drift shut in the comforting warmth of another body; space has a way of seeping into your bones, cold and lonely, and it’s soothing to feel the steady rhythm of Keith’s heartbeat, the even puffs of breath.

“Hm?” it comes out drowsy, like exhaustion finally caught up to him in repercussion of the trainwreck of emotions he was shutting out.

“If you pull something like that again, I’ll beat the shit _out_ of you.” Matt mumbles.

Keith lets out a small laugh, which turns into a tiny yawn. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Even heroes are allowed to say goodbye.” Matt manages to say, before he drifts off.

* * *

 

“Even heroes are allowed to say goodbye.” It’s a simple statement, murmured sleepily, before silence retakes the room.

Its warmer this time, less oppressive, less likely to suffocate Keith in its manifestation.

Keith smiles.

 _Seven,_ he thinks absently. _Seven_ , as he finally lets sleep take him.

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> There's this word i recently learned of; _Mutterseelenallein_. It's german (i'm not so excuse me if my research isnt entirely accurate), and it speaks of a loneliness so extreme, so complete, that it corresponds to abandonment by everyone you love, without the comfort of even your mothers soul. It's utter isolation, desperation and abandonment. I thought it was very sad, and very pretty in context, and well, i kind of felt it fit with regards to the nature of the first part of this fic.  
>  Just wanted to share that little tidbit of information.
> 
> Comments? Kudos? Validation? Screaming? 
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr if you want: [@theincrediblesulkmachine](http://theincrediblesulkmachine.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sanguinity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352230) by [zacekova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova)




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